


Survivor

by DamadiSangue



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Confrontations, F/M, Post-Resident Evil 5, Pre resident evil revelations 2, Unhealthy Relationships, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8300908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamadiSangue/pseuds/DamadiSangue
Summary: The world is off, the breath is dead.
  
  Empty eyes, milky eyes - accusers.
  
  Unknown faces, rotten teeth, the Uroboros is a wild and terrible beast, a sprawling monster that vomits on her all her sins.





	

"Only after a disaster we can be resurrected.   
It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything."  
\- Chuck Palahniuk -

 

  
**Survivor**

 

"Why did you saved me?"  
"I don't know."  
"Lier."  
An half smile; a crooked fold of her lips.  
"It's the second time."  
Silence.  
" _Why?_ "  
A prayer; a frustrated invocation.  
"Because it's not your fault."

_None of this it never was._

  
********

 

**Breathing, killing, seething, willing - waiting for you.**

The world is off, the breath is dead.  
Empty eyes, milky eyes - _accusers._  
Unknown faces, rotten teeth, the Uroboros is a wild and terrible beast, a sprawling monster that vomits on her all her sins.  
Excella opens her mouth, _cries_ \- swallows blackish sewage and fear.  
Blood, tar; a slaughterhouse that pulling, ripping, _roaring._  
She can't think, she doesn't want to die - not _like this._  
She blindly tries to cling, clawing a mushy and slimy strand - she falls even deeper.  
The parasite rolled around one of her thigh, _pulls_ \- swallows her white and gold Louboutin.  
Excella closes her eyes and _squeezes._

 

  
**#0**

"One hundred and thirty beats for minute, hypothermia, loss of consciousness: the patient is breaking down."  
"Turn her on her side, we have to avoid cerebral hypoxia. And that she pukes on herself."

_What...?_

"I don't find the artery, there is too much blood. Call Stuart, now!"  
Someone pulls her side, someone else put his fingers inside her abdomen and _tightens._  
"Hold it steady!" cries the same voice as before, "I have to close the bleeding and find that son of a bitch that is chewing her intestines."

_What the hell is this?_

"Stop it." hisses the voice - feminine, authoritarian " _Stop_ , or I'll have to open you like a fish to find it and trust me, it's something that I'd _really_ like to do."  
Excella try to squint (she can't) emits a weak meow.  
The voice _pulls,_ staples, ties, stitches - the pain a hot vise that crushes her skull.  
The voice doesn't stop for a moment to give orders, thin fingers that run on her body, along the ribs - that measure, control, _occur._  
The voice is derisive, fatigued, _known._  
"Be a good girl and stay down."  
The voice is him - _her._

_No._

Excella slips in an icy darkness.

 

  
**Fighting, biting, hating - waiting for you.**

There is no memory in her rebirth, there is no past.  
Excella looks to a sky devoid of stars and doesn't understand.  
She knows she should have a name, but doesn't remember.  
She wonders why she is naked and how she is got on the bridge of a merchant ship, but nothing comes to her aid.  
She breathes in, smells hit her like a punch in the stomach - metal, acid substances, rotting flesh, blood and smoke.  
She diverts her gaze, catches a blackish and swollen thread of ash in the distance.  
_Someone died_ is the first thought that crosses her mind _but I don't remember who - **why.**_

_Someone has died and I should know who._

The sun tears the night, clawing the horizon.

_Someone that I loved- that cheated on me._

The helicopters of the BSAA pass over her without even noticing.

 

  
**#0**

"Her vital signs are stable."  
"Good."  
"I did lead the patient in the adjacent rooms to her, as she had requested."  
The woman nods, throws latex gloves in the trash.  
"She should wake up in less than two hours."  
The twilight of the room sharpens her cheekbones, the nose; makes her a very white and impenetrable statue.  
Stuart studies her profile, the weary folds of her lips, the hair picked up in a messy knot.  
"She should rest too." he adds, leaving the medical records on the desk "What she did today was... _surprising_."  
"Maybe later." is the dry reply, Stuart and his voice catches a pain which never had felt before.  
"Master Alex..."  
" _Go_ , Stuart." she interrupts him, moving her hand towards the door, "Take a day off or maybe two." she tilts her face in his direction and Stuart thinks to see new wrinkles - skin folds that weigh suddenly all her years "I will take care of it."  
Pain is a wound that never stop bleeding.

 

  
**Don't you, won't you, don't lie.**

The virus knows no more than two instincts; attack and escape.  
The virus shouts so loud shouts in her veins - blood - that Excella can't help but listen to it - to _submit_ to its will.  
The world is a distorted set of lights and colors, flavors suddenly insipid and nauseating odors.  
Slips for the company's corridors like a hunted animal, the dead don't recognize her - let her _go_.  
Fear crushes her breath, under the tongue the acid of bile and adrenaline.  
_Escape_ murmurs the virus - **_he_** \- _run where they can't find you. Run away and don't look back._  
Excella turn left, then right; behind the voices of the men of the BSAA become stronger.  
Falls, gets up; she enters a study from the blue walls and wooden floor.  
The nameplate on the door says _Excella Gionne_ , but she doesn't know who is that woman - doesn't remember.  
But the virus is doing it for her ( _I'll take care of you: I'll protect you_ ) and leads her to a hidden control panel.  
Excella watching the numbers light up, instinctively pushing seven digits (4987610)  
_Go_ the virus says, and a trapdoor opens beneath her feet _Here they will not find you. It was our refuge, remember? We built for eventualities like this._  
Excella swallows, hear the footsteps of the soldiers come nearer and nearer.  
The trapdoor closes tightly five seconds after her descent.

 

  
**#0**

Excella is young; suspended forever in her twenty-six years.  
White threads interweave now in her hair, courtesy of a virus that had eaten her alive.  
Excella has a clean face, her mouth open and regular breathing.  
Alex puts a hand under the chin, bends in her chair.  
"Excella Gionne." she says, and sighs, rubbing her eyelids with her fingertips "What irony of shit have the fate."  
The only answer is the quiet murmur of the machines.

 

  
**Give it, get it, live it, let it.**

The soldiers have entered and are also passed over.  
They had big voices, imposing; one among all remember something unpleasant, but she still couldn't remember what.  
Excella had looked around, measuring with her fingers the metal and thick walls.  
A panic room, that's where she was: armored walls, no window.  
A bed, a desk, a computer.  
A flower was floating quietly in a similar container to an aquarium, and Excella had enchanted a few minutes staring to the swollen and reddish petals - a gift.  
Then she begins to rummage in the cabinet lying on her left,s he slips into her mouth a handful of dried fruit and pulls to a bag of chips.  
She is hungry, and doesn't understand why there is so little stuff in that damn hole.

_Because it wasn't for you, stupid girl._

The virus continues to talk to her, tireless.  
Excella ignores him, licking her fingers and drinking most of the bottle of water she found.  
She raises her face upwards, perceives nothing, only silence.  
_Sleep_ whispers the virus _Sleep, Excella. I'll take care of you._  
Excella curls up on the floor and closes her eyes.

 

  
**#0**

There aren't tears when she wakes up, useless cries.  
Excella opens her eyes, half-opens her mouth in a quiet sigh, almost shy.  
The pupil enlarges, tries to capture the last remnants of light.  
The night is gaining ground on Sushestvovanie and snow gives it an aristocratic appearance, noble: a pale expanse under rough edges are hidden and blunt from all that white.  
"Excella." Alex calls her, and she turns.  
"Do you know where you are?"  
Excella frowns, biting her lip.  
"No." and her voice is incredibly clear "But I know you saved me."  
"What do you remember?"  
Excella inhales, focuses on the sheet - trying to gather her thoughts.  
"Nothing. A little. I don't know."  
"Do you remember who I am?"  
Excella studies her for a few minutes, shakes her head.  
"No, but he says that we've met before."  
Alex raises an eyebrow, folds her arms across her chest.  
" _He_?"  
Excella indicates her left breast, where the Uroboros had planted its roots, and had then made its way down the esophagus, among her viscera, up to screw her mouth and palate.  
"The virus."  
"The virus is speaking to you."  
Excella nods, and looks like a confused child.  
"He has a beautiful voice; resembles yours, but male."  
Alex shrinks the jaw, swallowing the urge to slap her face.  
"Has a name this _virus_?"  
Excella looks for her eyes, gives her one suddenly informed glance.  
"Ouroboros." she says " _Albert_."  
The truth is the colorless murmur of a ghost always too real.

 

  
**Dedicated, nothing sacred for you.**

Time passes without changing shape for Excella, a flowing entirely meaningless.  
She counted the supplies (few) remaining water (of that there was far too much.)  
She walked, studied the flower contained in the glass case, tried to access the laptop's files without any success.  
She studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, a body that she doesn't remember.  
Full lips, high cheekbones - a certain way of roleplaying face, hands; everything about her speaks of a blatant beauty, arrogant.  
Excella approaches the mirror, squints - curls her lips on white and regular teeth.  
The virus is silent, quiet.  
_You haven't changed,_ he says.  
Excella not fully understand his words, touches with her fingers the full curve of her breast, opens her fingers like a fan on the flat surface of her abdomen.  
She knows she hasn't always been so; that a time not so far away even her brain was a weapon, a terrible resource.  
_You are the same_ assures the virus _I never destroy what I create._  
"It's not true; with me you did."  
Silence.  
"You have created me, you have destroyed me." she turns, clinging to the sink "You promised, I've been betrayed." the edge of the sink gives away, the knuckles whiten "You loved me, you _lied._ " **crack** , white and red fragments - blood and ceramics "You killed me."

_Anger, grief. A devastating sadness._

_Yet here you are: reborn._ sings the virus, and everything has the feel of a scene already experienced _Live like no creature can tell. Alive and powerful - **worthy.**_

_Sapphires **and** diamonds - smudged makeup **and** blood - her life in his hands, between her thighs._

Between her fingers the wounds have begun to heal.

 

  
**#0**

The woman in white says her name is Alex.  
Excella feels an instinctive distrust toward her, but can't do anything except study her in silence - the way in which she walking, strength _seeping_ from her words - by her actions.  
A gold snake on the wrist, two rings on the fingers - left ring, white gold and obsidian, right middle, white gold and ruby.  
The woman who calls herself Alex is older than her ( _I'm forty-nine_ , she had said) but she doesn't show them.  
Every morning she comes to her to checking her vital signs (ECG, oxygen saturation, blood pressure, body temperature) and let do the rest to Stuart, his butler...?  
_Chief Researcher_ suggests the virus _A man of exquisite manners, if you allow me the observation. Old English school, nothing to do with the American rudeness._  
Blonde hair, clear eyes, Excella finds her beautiful - beautiful and empty.  
There is a sad note in her voice, a broken inflection that offers a glimpse of a tormented soul - in _agony._  
"What happened?" she asks a sunny morning "What happened to you?"  
The woman turns, stares over her shoulder.  
"You should know." she says "Besides, you're the indirect responsible."  
The next day will be Stuart to check her health status.

 

  
**Don't you, won't you, I die.**

The bunker door is flung open and surprise pushes her to hole up in the far corner of the room.  
Two men hiding from gas masks point their weapons against her, another controls the small space and its contents.  
"We found one alive!" cries the highest, and says "What should we do with her?"  
Red shoes, legs wrapped in white, a woman comes into view - she studies her from head to foot.  
Excella tightens her arms to her breast, trying to give back to them.  
The woman has a brief moment of disbelief, then turns to one of the men dressed in black.  
"Give me your jacket." orders, and approaches.  
"Excella." she calls, and hands her a hand.  
She has manicured nails, painted red.  
Excella instinctively looks at her nails and begins to rub against each other - trying to polish the contours, adjust its shape.  
The woman is still advancing a few steps, finally able to throw her jacket on her back and cover her body at least up to the thighs.  
She has cold fingers, trembling slightly.  
Excella can't stop rubbing her nails, release a frustrated groan.  
"Excella." recalls the woman, but she ignores her.  
_It is your name_ reminds the virus _Your name is Excella Gionne._  
The woman touches the fold of her neck, brushes her hair in an almost gentle caress.  
Excella not even realize that the needle penetrates in her skin and f _alls._

 

  
**#0**

"The memory loss is real."  
Alex continues to write, nods.  
"She has feelings, confused memories of her childhood, of the recent past, but can not give them a name. Not yet, anyway."  
Black ink on white paper; Alex bleeds in her own words.  
"Speak again with the virus - so she says."  
The pen rushing, safe (Mont Blanc fountain pen. Writers Edition, Leo Tolstoy) track the instructions for the next apocalypse.  
"She wants to get out of her room."  
Alex pauses for a moment, pulls the pen - prevents the ink to stain the paper.  
"Her parameters have not changed from when we pulled what was left of Uroboros: blood pressure 110 over 60, sixty beats for minute. Body temperature of thirty degrees and six, saturation to 99%. The only tangible signs of her infection are the depigmentation of some strands of her hair and iris color under stress."  
"And the force. And the healing factor. And the metabolism."  
Stuart clears his throat, shift his weight from foot to foot.  
"The DNA and mitochondrial DNA are the same, Master Alex: one before us is undoubtedly Excella Gionne."  
The Mont Blanc begins to write, jumps from one death to another.  
Stuart holds the medical records in his hands, waiting.  
"Prepare to her a room, the clothes; then bring her here. I can't let her wander around the facility, but if she wants to break free then she will stay with me."  
Stuart gives her a nod, holds a sigh.  
"I'm sorry." he says, and starts to open the door, "It must be difficult for her, Master Alex."  
The Mont Blanc stops again, this time dripping ink on the paper and draws blackish and swollen tears.  
Stuart goes away from the study without making any noise.

 

  
**Wreak havoc, I'm crippled.**

The Tricell _dies_ , its empire _falls._  
Alex observes the one that was the last home of his brother collapsed in on itself, _swallowing_ all that remains.  
The land is curled at the corners and _implodes_ \- a giant mouth that eats, chews, _destroys._  
The screams of ( **un** )dead, the living, the glass shattered: it all comes down to a single, rattling sound.

_Her heart._

Alex observes the program of self-destruction to massacre the building, tear it to pieces - _cutting_ it.  
In the right hand the Uroboros data, in the left a photo.  
An old, _ruined_ , photo.

_Like you. As me._

William smiles from that photo, Annette mentions a laugh.  
It is all that remains of a cursed generation - of a desperate dream.

_September 1990._

Nineteen years ago. A dead life. A _deleted_ life.

_A life that he had kept on the bottom of a drawer, hidden - **protected.**_

"We are ready to go." joins the voice of one of her men, "When you say it, Master Alex."  
Presses her fingers into a fist, she fixed their half smiles, the blue of a sky that will never return.

D _ead. Grinning skulls, empty sockets. We all were dead before living._

"Let's go." she says, and Tricell continues to slump - deeper _and_ deeper, deeper _and_ deeper "There's nothing here for us."

_For me._

The helicopter takes off, goes away.  
Alex looked to the sleeping face of Excella and turns dry of every feeling.

 

  
**#0**

"I don't know who I am."  
"None of us ever really know."  
Excella sinks in the chair, bends her back.  
"It's not funny."  
"It didn't want to be."  
She raises an eyebrow, stared the woman who says her name is Alex.  
"You could help me."  
Alex stiffens her jaw, gives her a sideways glance.  
"No: I like to see you squirm like a bug in agony."  
Excella pouts her lips, a disappointed child.

_Too young - forever._

"You're a cruel woman."  
Alex smiles, puts a hand to her chest.  
"You flatter me, _Excella_."  
Excella stops haunting the armrest of the chair, raises her head sharply.  
"Say it again."  
"What?"  
"My name."  
" _Excella._ "  
The color drains from the cheeks of Excella, _disappears._  
"Fayer." she says, and her voice took a new downturn, stronger "Doctor Fayer. Specialist in virology, Umbrella's former employee."  
She looks up, looks for her eyes.  
"I know you." and there is no uncertainty in her words, no weakness, "I know _who you are_."  
Alex crosses her arms over her chest, tilts her face.  
"Oh yes?" she taunts "And who should I be, _Excella Gionne_?"  
The iris of Excella _fades_ , becomes a dark and bleeding orange at every blink of her eye.  
"Alexandra Wesker."  
Silence.  
" _You_ are Alexandra Wesker."  
Alex hardens her features, thins the pupils - shows her true nature.  
"And you _fucked_ your brother."  
Uroboros or not, the Alex's fist will make her unconscious for two days.

 

  
**Your polluted soul, is so corrupted.**

Hysterics. A panic attack. A nervous breakdown.  
Excella had been through several phases before being able to go out of her room without destroying something (or herself)  
She was hurt and had made it to her collaborators.  
She was almost starved, until the Uroboros hadn't called and she devoured the arm of a researcher there on the spot.  
Alex laughed at this unexpected action, because the **hunger** was an instinct she knew well and see Excella Gionne, _oh finally worthy,_ bent double to vomit from the shock her meal was... you know, hilarious.  
She had fallen into apathy (and Alex was equally pleased) and then becomes talkative (and here she had pass the problem to Stuart)  
She had complained of her appearance, only to let herself fester for days in the dirt.  
Shee was going on for three months (time in which Alex had gone through her personal hell) and appear one day in the doorway of her study, a faint chirping _can I have different clothes from this hospital gown?_  
Alex had squared her up and down (hair neatly collected in a low bun, filed nails, clean face) and had indicated a drawer at the side of the room.  
Excella had approached and began rummaging inside and...  
"You haven't something red, right? So boring."  
For a brief moment her pain had been interrupted by an irritation so deep the she almost breaks the Mont Blanc in her hands.  
Almost.

 

  
**#0**

"You broke my nose."  
"I could break you something else." Alex says "The ribs, the chest; to crumple in on itself your ribcage like the fingers of a hand. Get you explode the skull, the jaw and tear off your teeth from your stupid face."  
Excella curling her lips into a grimace of disgust, tap with a perfectly fingernail on the elbow.  
"God, this _sucks_ , you have the same theatrical and grotesque taste in death of _him_. You don't know the thousands of dollars that I threw in to repaint the walls of the laboratories."  
Alex stifles a laugh - squeezes it between her teeth and turns it into a grunt - Excella sighs.  
The story is just a tragic theater of the absurd.

 

  
**In your eyes, see all the lies.**

"I'm not your nanny."  
Excella looks disoriented, agonizes her hands.  
"But I don't know how to control myself."  
"And that would be my problem?"  
Excella opens her mouth, closes it: diverts her gaze to the unconscious guard.  
"Yes." retorts, and takes a strand of hair behind her ear, "I can't go around to break through walls and killing people."  
"You have done this before, I don't see where is the problem now."  
"I break through the walls?"  
Alex raises both eyebrows, sighs dramatically.

_Stupid. Beautiful and stupid. What a fucking cliché, Albert._

But Excella isn't stupid, and she knew it well.  
Her brain was a goddamn war machine when it came to virology and genetic engineering, a handful of synapses that had stabilized the primary compound of the Starway of the Sun and gave the initial impetus to Uroboros research.  
_But now she is a little bit stupid_ suggests that little voice typically feminine that yes, has a little the nerve to have to deal with the ex of her own partner.  
"No." she hisses "You didn't break through the walls, but you killed people."  
No reaction.  
"If I say _Tricell_ , you think of anything?"  
Excella frowns, takes on a concentrated expression.  
"It was my company." she says after a few minutes "But I lost it. "  
Alex nods, takes a sip of coffee.  
"They took it from me. The BSAA will surely conducted an investigation and after the events in Africa nothing could save my business."  
Alex urges her to continue, takes off a shoe and dangles her foot under the desk.  
"I want it back."  
"You can't."  
"Why?"  
Alex stretched her lips in a sardonic smile, disturbing.  
"Because to the world you're a dead woman, Excella Gionne."  
"You too." she murmurs "Yet this didn't stop you to recover what you wanted."  
Alex stares at her curiously, turn the pen on the paper.  
"That would?"  
"Yourself."  
Sushestvovanie is silent and listen.

 

  
**#0**

"I don't know how to stop it."  
"Try."  
"I can't."  
"Failure is not contemplated."  
Excella's chin snaps forward, gives her a face distorted by the confusion and pain.  
"I can't do it."  
Alex shows security, but her body is already folded into a defensive posture.  
"Excella." a warning - a _hiss._  
"I ... I do not ..."  
The Uroboros _rips_ Excella' skin, unfolds behind her like an obscene parody of a mantle that moves, twists, lives.  
Excella screams, Alex bends her knees.  
"Control, Excella. Control is the key to everything."  
The Uroboros _rolled_ around her body, swinging - sniffs the air, the land.  
"It's like an arm or a leg; a natural extension of your conscience."  
Alex's voice is low, monotonous: the Uroboros swings at her, an enchanted - which recognizes the alpha and the omega.  
" _Excella._ "  
The Uroboros snaps, Excella collapses forward - spewing bile through clenched teeth.  
Alex reaches out, open palm and parted fingers.

_**Imposes** her own strength, **reveals** her true nature._

The Excella skin opens in a thousand other small wounds, blood _and_ poison - Uroboros _and_ despair.  
Alex's pupil is reduced to nothing more than a crack, the iris _burns_ \- growls to the beast and to its _pathetic_ arrogance.  
"No." and the world stops.

_The Uroboros stops._

Excella coughs, spits saliva and blood.  
She looks up, tries to find Alex - try to ignore the soggy and cold texture of Uroboros on the skin, between her vertebrae.  
_Bend_ to the new god, _tamed_ by its will; the Progenitor _barks_ its commands, _screams_ its fury - the Uroboros nothing more than a lost puppy, put in detention in the farthest corner of the room.  
Alex shows no uncertainty, no crack: legs apart, stiff shoulders, everything about her expresses the brutal determination that she had also seen in Albert.

_The total and blind devotion to a delirium they called future._

Alex closes her hand into a fist, the Uroboros _whines_ \- Excella puts her arms under the breast and tightens, an electric shock that almost stops her heart.  
Alex rotates her fist, and moves forward, forcing the parasite to a disorderly retreat, _frightened._  
One by one the offshoots hide under her skin, a blackish and fluid mass that stains her mouth, the sclera of her eyes.  
"It hurts." Excella murmurs, and she doesn't recognize her own voice.  
Alex is silent, continues to advance and to tighten her hands until even the last tentacle is not returned into her back with a dull and flabby sound.

_Silence._

"You _must_ learn to control it."  
"I can't."  
"You _must_." says Alex, and Excella can't help but stare at the tip of her expensive Prada shoes.  
"I didn't ask _that._ " she chews, and relies heavily on one knee to get up "I didn't ask to _die_ and become a B.O.W." she staggers for a moment, leans on the table for balance "I haven't asked for _anything_." she hisses - roars.  
Alex stares to her with her inhuman and empty eyes, her arms at her sides, rigid jaw.  
"No." she replies, and curls her lips on the teeth "No, you're right; you asked only to be _worthy_."  
Excella swallows, brushes her hair from her face.  
"You ..." Alex approaches - too much "... you wanted to be _worthy._ You wanted to see how were our lives, how was to get _fucked_ by a tyrant and to crush other people's lives under your hypertrophic ego."  
Alex grazes her cheekbones with the tips of her fingers, expands her _horrible_ smile.  
"You _wanted,_ Excella. This is the difference between you and me."  
She presses the index in her cheek, her thumb into the soft flesh of her neck.

_Like him._

"You _chosed_ , Excella; a luxury that I - _we_ \- never had."  
Suddently she loosens her grip, Excella glides to the ground - a useless object, _broken._  
Alex oversteps her as she was worth less than _nothing._

 

  
**The alibis, that I despise.**

"You're sick."  
Alex clawing at the edges of the sink, bends forward.  
"From what?"  
She opens her mouth, closes it; she suffocates a gagged full of acid and saliva.  
"It's the fault of the virus?"  
Alex leans her elbows on the sink, trying to breathe.  
"Will it happen to me?"  
Her knees nearly give way, the sweat-sticky her shirt on her back - smell of fear and death.  
"I can help you; I did it for him, I can do that for you too."  
Alex lets slip a metallic laugh, dry - a desperate howl.  
"Do not give me that crap." she murmurs, and have a weak note her words, _fragile_ "It is not the same thing."  
"The serum could..."  
The back of Alex twists dangerously backwards, then forces her to lean forward and to vomit blood and bile.  
Excella spreads her hands in front of her, undecided.  
"Don't." interrupts the voice of Alex, "I don't want your help."  
"You saved me." repeats Excella, and to Alex she seems one of those little birds too colorful and loud that infested Raccoon City.  
"I hate you." she says, and perhaps it is the pain in her that lower her defenses, or maybe just the physical need to send her away, "I hate you and I will kill you with my bare hands if I wasn't too busy trying to save my ass and not even throw up dinner of yesterday."  
Excella raises an eyebrow, she brings hands on hips.  
"I change city, nation, even Wesker, but the shit is always the same."  
Alex stares sideways, a reddish thread between her teeth and eyes.  
"You're not invincible."  
Alex's fingers trembling, her face pales - her heart _roars._  
"None of us are."  
On Excella skin tangible proof of that ruthless truth.

 

  
**#0**

Sushestvovanie is quiet in the early hours of the morning, a handful of rocks and angry waves.  
Alex observes Excella from the terrace of her room, a cup of coffee in her hands and eyes dark-rimmed.  
The disease progresses without rest, devours her alive.  
Destroys her cells, changing her mitochondria - reduces it to nothing more than a chemical bomb ready to explode.  
Below her Excella let the icy water swirls around her ankles; she opens her arms and try to tame the terrible beast that is the Uroboros.  
It opens up on her shoulders, splitting the skin of the back and draw blacks and red wires - a tattoo that still invokes _his_ name.  
Alex sees Excella stagger under the weight of all that power, regain balance and let the virus wraps her in a grotesque embrace.  
_Dance,_ Excella, and Uroboros with her.  
She directs its to her left, then to her right; a weapon of mass destruction used to collect pebbles and shells.  
And is beautiful Excella, the eyes the same shade of African sunsets and white streaks in her hair like snow.  
She laughs, and it's clear sound - _alive._  
Alex brings the cup to her lips, coughs - bloodstained the sleeve of her robe.  
Mirthless smiles, Alex closes her eyes - swallows the tears of a life now in its last lap.  
Below her Excella is all that remains of _his_ tragic legacy.

 

  
**Your disguise, monster size.**

"I'd like to see it."  
Alex doesn't look up from the microscope, only adjusts the focus.  
"My grave; I would like to see it."  
The movement of her fingers stopped, the only tangible sign that she is listening.  
"I think I have the right."  
Alex departs from the microscope, fixed the wall in front of her.  
"Has he one?"  
A tic to the left ring finger; the band in white gold and obsidian trembling.  
"No."  
"Where did he die?"  
"In a volcano."  
Excella diverts her eyes, inhale forcefully.  
"And I?"  
"You were buried in the family cemetery, in Milan."  
Excella crease her lips in a grimace,  emits a upset sound.  
"The Gionne's tomb"  
"Correct."  
"No Travis."  
"No."  
"For the honor. The dignity of the family. Because the name of Travis had already been dirtied enough when I climbed the summits of Tricell with Albert at my side."  
Alex tilts slightly her face towards her, reserves a vacant look - tired.  
"Who..."  
"Nobody."  
Excella straightens her back ( _brave little soldier_ ) shaking hands in fists.  
"Not even my father?"  
"He was too busy trying to save _at least_ the commercial branch of the company from the debts and from the scandal."  
"But you were there."  
Evidence: the mere finding of the facts.  
" _You_ : a dead woman at the funeral of another dead woman."  
Alex looks for her eyes, fixed - a blue so intense as to be almost transparent.  
Excella Gionne died when only the ghosts wants to remember her.

 

  
**#0**

The Uroboros erupts from her skin like a blackish and translucent fan, stiffens  
Alex is still on the other side of the beach, legs wrapped in white and staring.  
"Go on." she says "We will see this _progress_ about you talk so much."  
The Uroboros sniffs the air - _her._  
Log in symbiosis with Excella's cells, synchronizes them.  
Rocking back and forth, it gathers around to her chest like an armor.  
Search a space, a crack, something in which to put on and attacking.  
Alex smiles, opens her arms derisively.  
"Then?" she spurs "Nothing, but some sway, and a grim look?"  
Excella grinds her teeth, the Uroboros felt her tension and snaps forward - a faithful dog and voted to sacrifice.  
Alex expands the smile, dodges its attack with embarrassing ease.  
She grabs one end, pulls forward - makes them off balance, knocking her to the ground.  
The Progenitor _laughs_ , shows only a shadow of its power.  
"Is not enough." joins the voice of Alex, "You are not born for this role, Excella."  
The Uroboros _attacks_ \- fierce, violent, _messy._  
Alex jumps backwards, rotates on herself and avoids each blow, then materializing in front of her and gives her a right uppercut to take away her breath.  
Alex is ruthless, a precise creature, controlled; brutal force hidden behind a pale, aristocratic face.

_Like him._

She hits _and_ hits _and_ hits, until the Uroboros _screams_ in her mind - begs for mercy, forgiveness, _just please, stop._  
Excella spits blood, tries to get up.  
Alex kicks her in the ribs (crack - two cracked, three broken) bends her in the sand - _crushes_ , like an insect.  
The Uroboros stretches to Excella's head, covering her vital points - protects its host.  
Alex's pupil is reduced to a very black and unfathomable slot, the iris _burns_ \- dripping with blood and anger.  
Lift off, she stops only when the Excella hand pops up and _blocks._  
Alex looks at her and pants.  
The Uroboros moaning, writhing beneath her.  
One leg suspended in midair, her Louboutin wedged between her fingers - Alex is a beast without pity and without hope.  
Excella has a swollen eye, cracked lips; her hair covering half of her face, her breath a wet gasp (she must've punctured a lung)  
They are attached - seeking each other.  
The Progenitor _screams_ \- growls all her pain, her fury.

_Her disappointment._

The Uroboros is rolled up in a corner of her consciousness, stands as last barrier between Alex and Excella.  
"He's dead, Alex."  
Silence.  
"He's dead, and it was not my fault."  
The Progenitor strides, _claims._

_Kill her kill her kill her. Killherkillher **killher**._

Alex deviates from Excella, swallows.  
The Uroboros begins to rebuild the Excella' skin, bones; heals wounds, brings to life a body reduced to nothing more than a bloody pulp.  
Excella gets up on her knees, gives her a sidelong glance.

_Aware._

Alex hidden behind indifference a feeling that had killed her too many times.

 

  
**Erasing, refacing, no worthless, no mercy.**

They had never spoken openly about it.

_They couldn't._

It had always been a forbidden topic, a memory that both had lived privately and never confront about.

_To say what?_  
_Excuse me if he killed you like a dog, Excella._  
_Sorry if I haven't stopped him in time, Alex._

Excella sits across the room, glances Alex.

_She grasps her - **him.**_

The same accurate gestures, repetitive.  
The same military posture, the same expressions of the face - bared teeth, nothing human.  
She picks up the pen (Mont Blanc, fountain pen. Edition writers, Leo Tolstoy) and moves like _him_ \- a ruthless symmetry.  
She fights like _him_ , she even laughs like _him._

_And yet..._

Alex looks up, catches her.

_Broken eyes, full of pain that has only one name - never the right one._

Having loved a man like Albert Wesker was the condemnation of both.

 

  
**#0**

A new life, a goodbye; a future enclosed in her new bag Hermes, Kelly model.  
Excella slips with her eyes on the suitcase, along the walls of the room - a prison house for two years and three months.  
"What has changed?" she asks and turns - to _her._  
Alex is a different woman, more _fragile._  
She remains motionless, arms folded across her chest and her shoulder against the door frame - a white and gold statue.  
"You need to leave."  
"Why?"

_Why now?_

"You must leave."  
Excella thins her lips, makes an impatient gesture with her hand.  
"I could use the Uroboros to force you to tell me."  
Alex raises an eyebrow, smiled - _almost._  
"And I could use the Progenitor to _once again_ teach who is in command here - who held who by the balls."  
Excella is silent, and through the Uroboros she perceives Alex illness, her despair - the agonizing melancholy that had crushed her in these recent months.  
The Progenitor attacks ( _as always_ ) and closes all communication leaving to the Uroboros nothing more than crumbs - the remains of a woman who has never fallen, not in front of her.  
"Go away, Excella. You're free. Free and alive."  
"I have nothing left."  
Alex emits a disinterested sound, shrugs.  
"You've got your new identity, your new clothes. The BSAA isn't looking for you anymore, the Tricell has paid its debts. You have _Uroboros_ ; you don't need anything else."  
Excella _pushes_ \- seeking an entry point in Alex's mind.  
"Don't." admonishes Alex "I'm giving you a chance, the last. A helicopter is already waiting for you, you just leave this room and _live_ , Excella."  
Excella studies her, her profile - her thoughts.  
Skin stretched over the cheekbones, pale lips; Alexandra Wesker is... _dying_?  
"Yes." she says, and her voice breaks the silence "And I can't help it. I _don't want_."  
Excella opens her mouth, closes it - bends to her side and picks up the suitcase, the bag.  
Crosses the threshold of the room, she turns to Alex.  
"It's over, right?"  
Alex is silent, she blinks once, twice.  
"They're coming to get you."  
"Go, Excella Gionne; enjoy your life for which you have fought so much."  
For a moment, a faint istant, Excella would comfort her - touching her, maybe.  
She wants to tell her that everything will be fine, she'll make it.  
That no man is worth of her life, but she only lies to herself - to that part of her that loved Wesker even while he was killing her and took away _everything._  
"And if they found me?"  
Alex gives her a sideways glance, arches a corner of her mouth.

_"You Weskers are hard to kill, uhm?"_

"Miss Gionne." interrupts Stuart "The helicopter is ready, if you want to follow me..."  
Excella looks at Alex one last time, she realizes that there is too _much_ to say - a _whole_ that becomes _nothing_ under the weight of remorse.  
"Addio, Alexandra Wesker." she says in her native language "To the next life."  
Alex continued to stare, eyes glassy and similar to those of a snake.

_To him._

Excella walks down the hallway without never looking back.

 

  
**In your eyes, see all the lies**  
**The alibis, that I despise**  
**In your eyes, all the lies**  
**Alibis, I despise**  
**See the lies, spirit dies**  
**Your disguise, monster size.**

"He always loved you."  
Alex is a crumpled profile in the darkness of the room, a hoarse breath, wheezing.

_Disturbing._

"I hated you, Alexandra _Fayer_."  
A wet sound, mushy. Coughing, a choking gurgle, almost the lungs were melting from the inside.  
"I hated you so much and I wanted to see you dead. I wanted that you fail, that you _break_. That you die as the troublesome insect you were."  
A crunch, the leg of a chair that moves.  
"And you did. You were dead. To save me. And you came back."  
Something that scratch; perhaps the Alex nails, maybe something else.  
"And I was _so_ glad that I you died, I had finally shown your weaknesses. You were imperfect, Alex. You were _fragile_ , as we ordinary mortals. You were not a god nor a B.O.W: only a paltry rejection that Spencer had forgotten to throw. "  
An aborted laugh; wet with blood and mucus.  
"But it was not enough."  
Silence.  
"He was by your side days, weeks. He _killed_ two of my best researchers because they wanted to detach your respirator. He sent Jill to watch you when he had to keep his research. And no matter how hard I try, you were always better than me. "  
A muffled hiss; bare feet touch a blade of light.  
"And that's when I realized."  
A vase falls: broken glass and blood drops.  
"But I didn't want to accept it. I _couldn't._ "  
Excella sees Alex in the middle of all that darkness, tangled hair and hands clasped to her chest - sunken eyes, hallucinated. _Delirious._  
"I hate you, Alexandra."  
"Me too." and it is a dull murmur, soiled by only the anger that moves inside.  
Excella sketches a smile, bows her head.

_She agrees to be the queen of nothing and of a dead love._

Among them the shadow of a man who had destroyed both.

 

 

  
**"Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate.**  
**Incurable, in each, the wounds they make."**  
**\- Euripide -**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Song: "Monster", Static - X.  
> This story contains links with the events of "Our little horror story"  
> Sorry for any typos and/or grammatical errors.


End file.
